


Strength and Honour

by ElectraRhodes



Series: Fannibal Fest Ficlets 2017 [11]
Category: Gladiator (2000), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #LightsCameraMurder, Honestly what tags should I be using here, M/M, Military, Roman AU, Slavery, Violence, War, gladiator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: “My name is Maximus Hannibal Barca. Leader of the armies of the north, brother to a murdered child, son to murdered parents. And I will have my revenge. In this life. Or the next.”Yes, yes, a Hannibal Gladiator AU with some unexpected twists, an unexpected foil, an unexpected romance (Ok, not very unexpected but, hey), a somewhat sassy narrator, and an unexpected outcome. Strength and honour folks, strength and honour.





	Strength and Honour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonstruckidiot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonstruckidiot/gifts), [foxwrapped](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwrapped/gifts).



It happened a long time ago. And a long way away. But as the old Emperor used to say ‘What we do echoes in eternity.’ And so it has. And not just echoed, more like it has been shouted and yelled from the rooftops. Cried round the Coliseum, each tier of seats amplifying the noise, a great wall of sound. A bone arena! Where the voice was all one word: ‘Gladiator! Gladiator! Gladiator!’ Who when he took off his helmet and moved a short step forwards all went silent before him.

Yes. A long time ago, but I can still recall how even the new emperor took a stumble backwards when my master removed his mask.

“My name is Maximus Hannibal Barca. Leader of the armies of the north, brother to a murdered child, son to murdered parents. And I will have my revenge. In this life. Or the next.”

I can remember how everyone sat back on the stone seats, the whispered hiss that snaked round the row upon row, the muttering and shock. And the look on the Emperor’s face. Seeing that in this too he had been thwarted. Disobeyed. Defied.

..................................

One year before.

I can’t honestly say I was wild about the camp, but at least we were warm and dry, which was saying something as the rain in that place was near constant. After a while I started to lose count of how long we had been at the front. And how long that damn battle had been going on, let alone the war. The Emperor, for all that he was a good man, or at least, so I thought, from what he said in his scrolls and thoughts, oh yes, I can read. Many slaves can. For all that he waxed lyrical about peace, he had been an awfully long time at war. Still it served the General well. And for the most part I served the General well too.

They were out there then. Waiting. For the return of the messenger. Sent off to parlay. Some senator’s son playing at Soldier who had the misfortune to have something of the local tongue. Sent alone as a mark or respect and trust. Not clever to my way of thinking, but my master was an honourable man and he expected to be dealt with honourably in return. Fool. Though that’s something I kept well behind my teeth.

Even with everyone down at the line there was plenty going on in camp. I had laundry, and some mending, food to prepare, the tent to warm. The spare breastplate to see to. Always something, there was always something. Better to get on with it. But then. That noise. That wailing howl. They said no then. They said no.

After the sound there was a sort of rolling silence and then all that we could hear, from back here in the camp, was the sound of metal on metal, wood on wood, and the sound that men make when they are cleft. And the shouting. A throb of noise.

Soon they began to bring in those who would not rise again, and those who might as well not. It was an endless river of limbs and loss. The camp was already full of it, and behind the lines? We had been sending people back for weeks. The Emperor was there. Waiting. For the decisive victory. Whatever that looked like. I had heard Varrus say that a people should know when they are beat, and my master had replied, sensibly I thought, ‘Would you Varrus? Would I?”

For a Roman he was not so bad, as a man he was fair too. Maybe that was the Carthaginian in him, his ancestors left behind when the first great Hannibal retreated back through Galicia to his home just across the endless wine dark sea. The Hannibal his parents named him for, never guessing how it would look years hence as he rose up the ranks. The Hannibal who’s daring and cunning brought him almost to the gates of Rome herself. Like my master then. Eventually.

But let us not get too far ahead of ourselves. There’s plenty more to tell before we reach the seven hills, after all, all roads lead to Rome. So it is said. All roads. And here? Now? I can hear my master calling for me. Best not keep him waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> .................................
> 
> I’m an archaeologist. I’ve dug on lots of Roman sites. However, and this one hell of a big caveat, the period of domination by Rome is not my era! Yes, I did Classics as part of my first degree, yes I made myself re-read rather a lot for this fic, yes I did more research than I care to admit, and yes I re-watched Gladiator an awful lot, but, still, not my era, and not my Civilization of choice.
> 
> Violence is period typical, clothing, food, home decor, all that good stuff is appropriate, I’ve fucked around with the names to make them fit though everyone is more or less in character (honest to god, slay me now). I’ve taken a few outrageous liberties with the film. But not as many as you might expect. Bite me! I shall get my Roman Hannigram in this Au and the next! Errr.


End file.
